


The Mercy Seat

by obidalanetwork_archivist



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Incomplete, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-11
Updated: 2008-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26213497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obidalanetwork_archivist/pseuds/obidalanetwork_archivist
Summary: AU - In a galaxy where the powerful Sith, led by Darth Sidious and Count Dooku, are at war with the Jedi and the Republic, the fate of countless worlds will rest in the hands of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padme Amidala, and their companions.
Collections: Obidala Network





	1. Infiltration

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Nadia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Obidala Network](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Obidala_Network) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2020. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Obidala Network’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/obidalanetwork/profile).

THE MERCY SEAT

War! The Republic is buckling beneath the strain of the evil Sith’s attacks. Led by the Dark Lord, Darth Sidius, the Sith continue to conquer and decimate worlds. Lured with the promise of power, disillusioned Jedi Knights and Padawans are joining their ranks in droves.

In a campaign of terrorism, the Sith have begun kidnapping key Republic politicians. Senators and planet rulers live in abject fear. Some have resigned from office; others have joined the Sith.

In space above the Outer Rim world of Sarna, Republic warships do battle with a Sith fleet commanded by the ruthless General Grievous. Infiltrating Grievous’ flag ship, a Jedi Knight leads a daring mission to rescue a captive Senator.

The chaos was almost beautiful in its random, violent way.

Hapless short-range fighters were carved apart as they attempted to negotiate their way through the crossfire of the battleships. One after the other, A-Wings exploded, erasing from existence some of the Republic’s most skilled pilots, and even some Jedi. Dying screams reverberated over the fleet comm system.

Obi-Wan Kenobi wove a path through the narrow spaces between weapons fire, drawing a wide circle around the Sith command ship to reach the docking bay on the other side.

Before he was able to turn about, though, a stray bolt of blaster fire rocked his diminutive vessel, tearing off a chunk of its left wing, which flew back overhead of R2D2, narrowly missing the astromech droid, who loudly whined his protest to the Jedi pilot.

“Calm down, R2,” the human’s smooth voice replied with but a hint of apprehension. “We’re all right. Shift the stabilizers to compensate.”

The ship steadied a measure when the droid complied, but another hit would surely take them.

As Obi-Wan finished bringing the A-Wing around, grimacing when the vessel lurched off-course momentarily, he could see the docking bay of Grievous’ battleship. Its shields were down, just as he’d known they would be. It appeared as though a new batch of fighters were preparing to take off from within, though.

“This might be one of our more memorable landings,” the Jedi quipped, dodging fire as he navigated toward the capacious bay. “Not too fast now, R2…”

Much to Obi-Wan’s chagrin, the ship’s speed began to increase rather than let up, accelerating the closer they got.

“R2!” he growled, clutching the console in front of him as his weight shifted forward none too gently. “Perhaps I wasn’t explicit. I said _not too fast_. _This_ is too fast!”

His loyal droid bantered back with a series of contrary beeps that denied culpability.

“Don’t play innocent with me!”

R2 didn’t have time to reply.

The A-Wing crashed into the open bay, wiping out a group of engineering droids and side-swiping the Sith Interceptor they were servicing, grinding past it across the large docking area with a most distasteful howl of metal on metal before finally gnashing to a halt.

Two dozen battle droids reacted immediately to the intrusion, surrounding the crippled vessel on all sides, blaster rifles drawn.

“Careful with this one,” the nasally droid leader warned.

There was silence for several long seconds as the robotic guards waited. Time stood still before R2’s shrill beep finally shattered the thick quiet, distracting some of the battle droids, who were subsequently caught off-guard when the cockpit window shot off of its hinges high into the air and Obi-Wan followed after it with a graceful leap.

Igniting his lightsaber in mid-air, the Jedi sliced three of the droids in half as he landed, ducking into a roll so that he sprang right back to his feet.

With a quick flick of his wrist, palm-out, he commanded the Force to send another six of them flying back into the wreckage of his ship, where they broke apart and crumbled as scrap to the ground.

The rest of the droids attacked him in mass, but he easily deflected their blaster shots, felling half of them with their own weapons fire and cutting through the other half with graceful strokes of his lightsaber.

Soon enough, he stood alone, grinning momentarily at his handiwork. R2’s self-conscious mewl drew the Master’s eyes.

“Well you can come out now,” Obi-Wan encouraged with a teasing smirk. As the droid popped up out of his slot in the A-Wing and cautiously lowered himself down to the deck, the Jedi couldn’t help but add, “And a lot of help you were.”

R2 beeped petulantly.

“Sure, sure. You’ll get the next ones,” the Jedi jibed quietly, his eyes no longer on the droid, but searching the bay for the elevator. When his gaze landed upon it on the far side from where they were, he gestured for R2 to follow him. “All right, come on. Stay close.”

His diminutive companion trailed after him as he crossed the expanse calmly, his unlit lightsaber held in a loose grip at his side. This might have felt routine in another circumstance, if the hostage weren’t of such personal importance to him. But it didn’t, and she was.

When he was nearing the elevator, one of the tall bulkheads – which led out of the bay to destinations on the same deck – retracted into the wall above it, and just as he’d expected, a new wave of droids appeared, opening fire immediately.

Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber and leaned back into a fighting stance, as if entrenching himself for a protracted struggle, but after he deflected a pair of incoming blaster bolts, he reached out and snapped his off-hand downward, watching casually as the bulkhead door slammed closed from above, crushing the three droids standing in the doorway and trapping the rest outside of the bay.

The Jedi continued to the elevator placidly, pressing a key on the computer pad to gain entry, then stepping inside, waiting as R2 followed and the doors closed behind them.

A quick glance at the near wall showed another computer panel, which displayed a ship’s schematic.

“Do you think you can hack in and find out where they’re keeping the Senator?”

R2 beeped in the affirmative, turning so that he was facing the panel and connecting to an input with his thin mechanical port. In a matter of seconds, though Obi-Wan’s impatient posture seemed to indicate that it took longer, the droid disconnected and relayed the information orally.

“Deck 47? What’s on that level?”

R2 answered him.

“The General’s Quarters? That’s an observation chamber, as I recall. A rather open space,” the Jedi said thoughtfully. “I imagine it’s a trap.”

The droid expressed his uneasiness.

“Thwarting schemes is my speciality, little one. Besides, you get to wait in the elevator. I’m doing all the leg work, as usual.”

R2 relented with a somber whine and, anticipating the Master’s order, turned back to the panel, reinserting his computer port and inputting their destination. Seconds later, the elevator began its descent.

Obi-Wan allowed himself a moment’s rest, leaning back against the wall behind him. His thoughts predictably turned to the hostage, his friend of many years. He’d been shaken by the kidnapping, so much so that he implored Masters Yoda and Mace Windu not to select him for this mission. But even though he’d freely admitted his difficulty in maintaining a professional detachment from the matter, the venerable Council had deemed him the man most qualified to see to it.

It would soon be clear if they were wrong.

It was a beautiful room, the General’s Quarters, if foreboding in its black, gray, and red color scheme, with pale yellow lights that spawned shadows throughout. On the far side, near enormous windows that revealed the scope of the battle in space, sat the hostage in an ornate throne chair, her wrists held down by metal trappings.

Obi-Wan’s heart skipped when he saw her, as relief, disgust, and apprehension all gripped him in a muddled mess of feelings. He wasted no time in descending the near staircase, then crossing the wide-open chamber, navigating past the only obstacle – a long table at the center flanked by a pair of bolted-down chairs.

Stepping up onto the slightly elevated floor where the chair was and stopping to stand beside the hostage, he ably managed to conceal his many emotions, smiling gently with a mock bow.

“Senator,” he greeted.

Padme looked upon the Jedi with delighted, comforted eyes.

“Obi-Wan,” she breathed. “How did you get in here?”

“It wasn’t as difficult as you might imagine,” he said, removing her metal bonds with just the slightest tweak of the Force. “Getting out will likely be the greater task.”

She stood up, rubbing one tender wrist with her other hand.

“Are you all right?” he asked gently.

Padme smiled with a resourceful bravery, though it didn’t feel like her own. Perhaps it siphoned from the strength in his demeanor and the mild, but genuine concern she saw in his eyes.

“I’m fine.”

He accepted the answer with a nod, then gestured toward the door.

“We should really be – ”

The sentence was interrupted by a craven man’s arrival.

Emerging through the doors onto the platform by the entrance was Quinlan Vos, a hard-looking brute of about thirty-five years, whose sharp features were made deeper and more gaunt by the taint of the Dark Side within him. His eyes, once black, shined the same shade of yellow now as the stripe that crossed the bridge of his nose. A pair of advanced combat droids stood on either side of him, each brandishing an electrostaff.

While Padme took a reactionary step back, her stomach tightening, Obi-Wan looked on the room’s new occupants tranquilly.

It had been difficult for him the year prior when he’d first heard of Vos’ fall from grace, but he’d made peace with it in the period since. Perhaps, he sadly realized, it was because such a fall was now heartbreakingly common. It no longer surprised him when a Jedi betrayed his oath. That was just the way it was.

“Hello, Quinlan,” he said evenly.

“I have been eagerly awaiting this moment,” the Sith replied, his voice sounding as if glass were crunching in his throat with each word. “For longer than you know.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“Put down your sword. I wouldn’t want to bloody you in front of your biggest fan.”

He glanced at Padme distastefully with his last words. She felt a shiver run through her as his hateful eyes studied her. Obi-Wan took one step to his right, blocking Vos’ view.

“I don’t think so,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “You’ll not get away this time, Sith.”

Vos flipped forward over the platform railing, elegantly landing on the floor below, unclipping his lightsaber and igniting it. Obi-Wan followed suit, glancing back at Padme.

“Try to stay out of the way.”

She nodded, but his small smile of reassurance did little to sooth her. His skills were plain and her confidence in him infinite, but it terrified her just the same to see this dark Jedi before her, his consuming drive the harm of her dearest friend.

The senator did as was requested of her, circling back behind the chair where she’d been held captive, well out of Obi-Wan’s way.

Satisfied she was safe for the moment, he began a deliberate walk toward his childhood friend, who was moving to meet him halfway, his red blade humming at his side.

“Your death will curry me much favor with Lord Sidius,” Vos taunted.

“I’m afraid you’ll both be disappointed.”

The Sith christened the duel with a wide swing that Obi-Wan easily deflected, the Jedi dropping back into a defensive posture as was his style, careful as he was backing up that it was in a direction leading them away from Padme.

Vos’ attacks were undisciplined and erratic, a mishmash of hammer strikes and lunges that didn’t amount to a cohesive offensive. The hate he had within him wasn’t fueling his movements, but rather adversely defining them.

Obi-Wan was patient, whirling his lightsaber fluidly with blocks and deflections.

When Vos committed himself too far on a lung, the Jedi planted his foot on top of the Sith’s, holding him in place momentarily so that he could deliver a long, vicious slash across the traitor’s neck. Vos’ hand flew up to cover the wound instantly as the blood began to flow from it, pouring through the cracks in his fingers as he howled in pain.

Obi-Wan took a step back and, as Vos desperately raised is lightsaber in a final, wild lashing-out, the Jedi severed his arm at the elbow, watching with pity as the detached half of the limb fell, the red lightsaber switching off as the deadened hand hit the metal floor.

The Sith, thoroughly humbled and in excruciating pain, stumbled around for a few moments, his throat conjuring horrible growls, before he fell to his knees, dizzied and nauseated by the quick and heavy blood loss.

“You always were…” the man croaked, “the… lesser… of us. You will… die…” He paused as he coughed violently, and wheezed. “Before… this war… is over.”

Obi-Wan looked down on him sadly, the man’s fate – and misery – plain, and he drew back his lightsaber.

“I wish it were different,” he said.

And then he delivered the final blow.

Vos crumpled onto his side in an undignified heap, one leg twisted under him, one wrist bent awkwardly beneath his hip.

With a final melancholy look at the remains, Obi-Wan gave Padme a meaningful glance from across the chamber. For a moment, she didn’t move, too stunned and disturbed and relieved by what she’d seen. But when her friend uttered her name softly, she finally stepped out from behind the chair and hurried toward him, swallowing back bile when she saw the body up close.

Obi-Wan grabbed her arm in a loose grip, stroking it for an instant with his thumb before he led her away from Vos’ corpse and up the stairs.

When they neared the top, he let go and pushed her back behind him as the two combat droids approached, attacking simultaneously with their electrostaffs. Obi-Wan ducked, and the two machines dealt each other devastating blows by mistake. As they reeled back, the Jedi sliced them apart with a few easy strokes of his blade.

“Come on,” he said, leading her out of the chamber and back out into the corridor.

Padme dutifully followed after him, grabbing onto his free hand, which he thoughtlessly relinquished to her. He took a glance in both directions, then led her to the right.

“You knew him,” she said quietly.

“Pardon?”

“The dark Jedi.”

He nodded dispassionately, his eyes darting in every direction, scanning for potential dangers as they moved.

“When we were younglings. He was a friend.”

“But he turned.”

“As has been the lot of many,” he said, his voice steady and serene, though it held the slightest hint of sadness that no one but Padme would have noticed. “He sealed his fate when it was pledged to evil.”

She knew it wasn’t that simple for him, that he’d take the violent act to heart and find a way to heap guilt upon himself for it, but this wasn’t the time for her to take the matter up. First, they needed to find a way to leave this place alive.

“How are we going to get off the ship?” she asked.

A pair of droids rounded a near bend, raising their rifles as soon as they spotted the Jedi, but Obi-Wan deflected their clumsy blasts easily, destroying both of them. Then he proceeded to answer Padme as if nothing had happened.

“That’s an excellent question, m’lady, but I left that matter to our capable companion.” Before she could request clarification, he grabbed his comm-link off of his belt and held it in front of his mouth. “R2, come in.”

The faithful droid beeped back over the channel.

“Have you secured us transportation yet?”

R2’s reply wasn’t to his satisfaction.

“Well what have you been doing this whole time?” He continued before the droid could answer, “Nevermind, I don’t want to know. But we have to leave. They obviously know we’re here by now. Are there any ships in the secondary bay?”

R2 beeped in the negative.

“What about the escape pods?” Padme asked.

“That’s too risky. They’ll have a clear shot to blow us out of the sky.”

The droid offered an alternative.

“Eject all the pods at the same time? That’s not a bad idea. By the time they figure out which one’s ours, we’ll be out of range. All right, what deck are the escape pods on?”

R2 replied.

“Deck 5. All right, we’ll meet you down there. Stay out of trouble.”

With one final set of beeps, the channel closed, and Obi-Wan placed the link back into a pouch on his utility belt.

They came to an intersection, and he once more stopped and looked both ways, trying to remember the ship’s layout, which was hazy in his mind.

“Which way, m’lady?”

“You’re asking me?” she said with mock indignation. “I was a little too busy kicking and screaming to remember directions.”

Obi-Wan smirked, but said nothing. After a long moment, he nodded his head to the left and led them in that direction. It was the correct decision. They came upon the elevator not more than a minute later.

The elevator came to a stop. Before the doors opened, Obi-Wan unclipped his lightsaber and had it at the ready in case of a grim eventuality.

It proved a prudent move, for as the doors parted before them, more than fifteen droids were waiting for them, each with their weapons trained. But even with this enormous advantage of numbers and surprise, the Jedi proved too worthy a foe for them.

Igniting his lightsaber, he decapitated the row of six in front of him in one motion, then leaned in and shouldered the broken sextet into the droids behind them. Seven of the remaining nine fell to the ground, and he quickly carved them apart like a machete through tall grass. The last three at least managed to shoot at him, but it was their own weapons fire that was their end.

When the last fell, Obi-Wan turned back to Padme.

“Come on.”

She came out of the elevator, carefully stepping over and between the fallen droids.

“How did you do that?”

“Beginner’s luck,” the Jedi quipped.

Padme managed a smile at that, trailing after him down the corridor. They didn’t run into any more trouble most of the way, but just as the escape pods came into view and Obi-Wan allowed himself a victorious smile, a bulkhead at the hall’s end opened, and he realized with a sinking feeling that the matter wasn’t yet resolved.

One by one, six black-clad Sith ignited their lightsabers, their sun-colored eyes looking on the Jedi and the Senator with pernicious intentions.

“I don’t suppose they’re here to see us off.”


	2. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - In a galaxy where the powerful Sith, led by Darth Sidious and Count Dooku, are at war with the Jedi and the Republic, the fate of countless worlds will rest in the hands of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padme Amidala, and their companions.

The Sith, each cloaked in black overtop gray tunics, slowly advanced down the corridor toward the Republic loyalists. Obi-Wan glanced around at his surroundings, trying to gauge how best to handle the situation, but he couldn’t see anything that would give him a tactical advantage.

Letting out a calm breath that hid his frustration, the bearded Jedi pulled out his comm-link, handing it to Padme, who almost dropped it in her nervousness. He quickly led her forward by the arm, so that they were beside the first escape pod, as the Sith came within fifteen feet of them.

“Get in there,” he said, gesturing to the pod. “And find out what’s taking R2 so long.”

  
She nodded breathlessly, climbing into the escape pod, which he sealed behind her with but a moment to spare.

As soon as it latched, he switched on his lightsaber and raised it to block an overhead attack from one of the Sith. Driving his blue blade hard against the red one, he used his strength advantage to shove the man back, just in time to parry a thrust from a second dark Jedi.

  
He sensed a third one behind him slashing horizontally and ducked, so that the man decapitated one of his companions instead. Then, with a Force-assisted leap, he managed to create some separation, landing a short ways away from the Sith so that he could regroup.

Sealed in the escape pod, Padme called out earnestly over the comm-link, “R2D2! Are you there?”

The droid beeped back at her.

“I need you to get down here. Obi-Wan’s holding off some Sith, but there’s too many of them! You have to do something.”

R2 curtly asked her what she expected of him.

“I don’t know! Think of something. Create a distraction.”

Out in the corridor, after Obi-Wan landed from his leap, he surprised the Sith by winding his arm back and tossing his lightsaber at them. It spun like a cyclone, cutting one of the dark Jedi’s legs apart at the knee.

  
As the blue blade flew back into its owner’s hand, the assailed Sith fell forward, landing on the floor with a thud as he let out an eardrum-rattling scream, bringing both hands now to grip what was left of his knee.

The other four scarcely reacted, the man’s agony failing to move them. Rather, those still standing shared a brief look, and a silent command was registered with each.

They rushed at the Jedi in a fury, each one’s lightsaber held high. Obi-Wan was able to deflect two of the men’s strikes, but the other two scored glancing blows, one to his shoulder and the other to his hip.

Feeling a rush of adrenaline as pain rippled through him, he angrily kicked one of the Sith in the chest, sending him hard into the near well, where the dark assailant struck his head and slid down to the floor in a daze.

Still, the other three had him cornered. He backed away like an animal trying to hold off slaughter, his lightsaber clutched in both hands, waiting for the opening he was certain they’d provide him. But the Sith, as was their deplorable manner, didn’t attack right away, reveling too much in their adversary’s predicament to end it immediately.

Eventually, they began to jab at him tauntingly. He parried the thrusts easily, but they weren’t meant to harm him anyway; they were meant to mock him. To see the great and renowned “Negotiator” in such distress was as pleasurable as a liaison of the flesh to these Sith.

Their reveling proved short-lived, however.

With a jarring suddenness, the anti-fire valves on the ceiling were triggered by an inferno that wasn’t there, spraying down chemicals on the surprised combatants.

While the Sith were distracted by the unforeseeable occurrence, though, Obi-Wan was not. Spearing one of the men through the stomach, he planted a foot and spun back, elbowing the second in the face, knocking him to his knees. Then he extracted his lightsaber from the first man, slashed the third across the chest, and decapitated the kneeling second Sith.

He left the three of them lying there and took off in a jog back down the corridor toward the escape pod. The Sith who he’d knocked out earlier attacked him along the way, but Obi-Wan easily ducked a swing and carved up his side with a clever stroke, continuing on his way before the man even fell.

It wasn’t long before he arrived back at the escape pod, and when he saw that the Sith whose leg he’d severed had died already from blood loss, he finally switched off his lightsaber and refastened it to his belt.

Padme opened the pod’s hatch, looking up at him tensely, frowning when she saw the blood staining the arm of his tunic.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine,” he said. “Now where is – ?”

R2 beeped a greeting as he carefully navigated around one of the dead Sith.

“There you are! What took you so long?”

The droid informed him, sounding annoyed.

“Oh, that was you. Nicely done,” the Jedi said, smiling gratefully. “Come on now; time to go.”

R2 awkwardly rolled into the pod, sliding around Padme to make room for Obi-Wan, who climbed in after him and resealed the hatch behind them. It impressed the Master when, without prodding of any kind, the droid immediately interfaced with the computer, no doubt reconfiguring the escape pods to eject simultaneously.

While R2 did his work, Padme lightly gripped Obi-Wan’s near shoulder, pulling back his cloak a bit and turning him slightly so that she could get a better look at the blood stain along his arm.

He saw the distress in her eyes and fought the urge to roll his.

“Nothing to concerned about.”

She was about to reply, but cut herself off when she heard the sound of footsteps in the distance.

“See? _That’s_ something to be concerned about,” Obi-Wan remarked dryly, turning his eyes on R2 earnestly. “Aren’t you done yet? I’ve seen you rewrite mainframes faster than this.” 

The droid ignored him, his complicated mind given to his task.

Padme shuddered when she heard an all too familiar noise nearer than she’d have liked in the corridor – a mild, distinct cough that could only belong to one man. And then she heard his jagged voice.

“The escape pods!” Grievous bellowed. “Open all of them!”

The shadows of a mob of droids and Sith darkened the pod window.

Obi-Wan’s head whipped back toward the robot.

“ _Now_ , R2!”

And just before their enemies’ eyes could look upon them, their escape pod – as well as all the others – ejected into space.

Grievous was caught off-guard by the mass exodus, first letting out a quiet, surprised “what?,” and then – upon understanding the Jedi’s scheme – releasing a loud, frustrated growl that made one of the young Sith wince.

“Order the Bridge to destroy them all!” the droid-man barked before succumbing to another cough.

One of the battle droids complied, transmitting the command over its comm-link.

Seconds later, Grievous watched out the near window as his flagship opened fire on each of the thirty escape pods. The window of opportunity was short as the pods entered the upper atmosphere, but there were a series of bright flashes – marking explosions – before the rest of the vessels finally dropped out of sight.

There was no way to know to which group the Jedi’s pod belonged – the destroyed, or the spared. Grievous looked out the window a few seconds more, then turned and stomped back down the corridor, the Sith and the droids parting to allow his passage.


	3. Awaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - In a galaxy where the powerful Sith, led by Darth Sidious and Count Dooku, are at war with the Jedi and the Republic, the fate of countless worlds will rest in the hands of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padme Amidala, and their companions.

It was a slow struggle out of darkness. The Force was coiled around him, and he had to unwind it if he was to wake. It wasn’t a task the non-sensitive could understand. The Force was heavier and more metallic than most knew, and to deny it – even in slumber – took more will than most could conjure.

He heard sounds nearby, voices speaking softly. He didn’t recognize them, but they didn’t sound particularly suspicious, or given to doing harm.

And with jumbled thoughts and slightly blurred vision, he emerged at last from sleep’s chasm.

His groan drew the attention of a man and a woman he didn’t know, who appeared above him moments later.

The man, of average stature, looked to be in his mid-twenties, or maybe as old as thirty if he was the type who aged well. His handsome face showed signs of battle – scraped in a couple places – and the beginnings of a beard, as if he hadn’t shaved in two or three days. Bright blue eyes, dulled by fatigue, looked down on him kindly.

“Hello,” he greeted softly, the word uttered with a Coruscanti accent a bit thicker than Obi-Wan’s. “Try t’take it easy, friend. Your body took quite a shock.”

The Jedi squinted against the light, which though dim compared to the sun’s illumination outside, still felt as knives to his concussed head. He clumsily lifted a hand to shield his eyes.

“Who are you?”

With a tired smile, the man held out his hand.

“I’m Miler Crata…” he said, awkwardly withdrawing the hand when Obi-Wan didn’t shake it. “I’m a, ah… Lieutenant with the 301st.”

Obi-Wan nodded a moment, as if his mind needed extra time to register the information. Then he finally lowered his hand, his eyes beginning to adjust to the light, though his head still ached from it.

“The 301st. That’s Saesee Tiin’s legion, isn’t it?”

Miler nodded pleasantly.

“Yeah, that’s right. Hell o’a pilot, that one. Though it scared me half t’death t’meet him. Horns an’ all.”

Obi-Wan nodded, as if he was listening when he wasn’t. He leaned forward, trying to sit up, and though the young soldier admonished him, he assisted him in the effort.

“Come on now. Don’t push it too hard. I didn’t have much bacta t’give you, I’m sorry to say.”

For the first time, as he found his bearings, the Jedi’s muddled mind recalled the details of his mission aboard Grievous’ ship. The events bled together, the distinct stretches of time playing overtop one another, and one word echoed through his skull.

“ _Padme_!” he exclaimed, shrugging Miler’s hand off and looking about the room with great distress.

Miler grabbed him by the shoulders to try to keep him from standing, and the woman stepped in front of him, holding her hands out placatingly.

“It’s all right,” she said quickly. “She’s all right. She’s resting in the next room.”

That seemed for the moment to satisfy Obi-Wan, who stilled his frantic movements and sighed, lifting a hand up to push some hair back off of his forehead. He took a long, calming breath, then looked up at the portly, middle-aged woman, whose soft, round face reminded him of the shallow, fractured memories he had of his own mother.

His face must have betrayed the question on his mind, because she answered before he’d even thought to ask it.

“My name’s Leona Voll. This is my apartment here. I apologize that it’s rather a modest space, but you’ll be safe here for the time-being.”

“She’s a friend of my sister’s,” Miler explained. “I was sent to do reconnaissance on the Sith fleet about two days ago. My scout ship was shot down on the edge of Quiren City. It was rather fortuitous, actually. With the Sith in control of the planet now, I don’t suppose anyone but Leona would take in a Republic fugitive.”

Obi-Wan rubbed one temple with a calloused hand.

“Fortune and its opposite are seldom random,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“The Force brought us here for a reason, I believe.”

“What reason?”

The Jedi shrugged cryptically, lifting his head.

“That remains to be seen,” he said, bracing his hands on his knees and slowly pushing himself to his feet.

Miler and Leona assisted him, keeping hold of him once he was standing. Obi-Wan swayed momentarily, but didn’t falter. He looked upon them earnestly.

“Can you take me to Padme, please?”

The woman nodded indulgently, leading him out of one modest room, down a hallway, and into another that looked much the same. The walls were hardly adorned, save for a sundry smattering of decorative pieces that were likely gifts received over a long span of time, as there was no cohesive theme amongst them or in their arrangement.

Padme lay supine on a small, clean bed, covered by a thin white sheet from the stomach down. She looked peaceful, but his eyes were drawn to the laceration just below her hairline on one side of her forehead.

He crossed the room slowly, still cognizant of the pain in his head and hip.

The mattress sunk slightly as he sat down on the edge of the bed, inspecting her cut more closely as he touched her cheek with the back of his hand. Despite the knowledge that she was safe and very much all right, his heart couldn’t help but sink as his eyes scanned every inch of the angry red skin.

She’d confided to him once that one of her greatest fears was disfigurement. Indeed, while he’d seen her fearlessly negotiate in the chambers of the Senate and stare evil men in the eye and hold her ground, he’d also seen the devastated look in her eyes when – weeks after she’d cut her arm in a minor speeder accident – she realized that the flesh had scarred, and that the mark would always be there.

This cut on her forehead didn’t pose any danger. It was closed now, and would heal in its own time. But without more bacta, and soon, it was sure to leave a scar. That bothered him more than it should have.

He glanced back at Miler and Leona.

“You’re certain you’ve no more bacta?”

Leona shook her head, looking mildly confused.

“No, I’m… sorry, there’s none. But I assure you she’s well. There’s no danger in not having any right now.”

Obi-Wan smiled gently, thinking that perhaps he’d sounded demanding or accusatory. That certainly wasn’t his intention. She’d shown him such kindness.

“I know. I apologize if I sound ungrateful. It’s just that…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish explaining, feeling somehow embarrassed. “Nevermind then. I appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”

“Of course,” Leona said warmly. “I am no friend to the Sith. They loom above as a mynock does the dead. I only wish I could do more to help your cause.”

Obi-Wan was moved to reassure her, but before he could do so, a familiar droid appeared from the hallway, forcing his way between Leona and Miler and rolling into the small bedroom.

“R2,” he smiled. “I knew they couldn’t keep you down.”

The droid beeped a similar greeting, expressing his relief to see his Master. It was things like that – the seeming expression of emotion – that led Obi-Wan to protect him from memory-wipes. It would be taking something that wasn’t his to take; he was as alive as anyone else.

Miler watched the interaction with curiosity before offering, “He took a beating, but he came through all right. Matter’a fact, he was the only one we didn’t need t’carry.”

“How did you find us in the first place?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Your escape pod crashed not far from here. We heard the commotion, and I went to see what happened. When I saw that it was you, I pulled you right out. And Leona came and dragged out your friend.”

“When you saw that it was me? You recognized me?”

“Of course. I see you in the hologram briefings all the time. You’re one of our greatest warriors, General.”

“Yes, well, let’s not stray into hyperbole,” Obi-Wan replied self-deprecatingly, rising up from the mattress and speaking again before Miler could respond, “Now, is there a Medical Center around here, or a supply store?”

Leona shook her head.

“If you’re looking for more bacta, you won’t find any. The Sith are controlling its distribution from designated military posts, and they’re only giving it out upon proof of dire need.”

Obi-Wan frowned.

“Surely something’s slipped through the cracks, or was hidden away by someone before the Sith took over.”

Miler opened his mouth to speak, but Leona cut him off.

“Don’t,” she said. “It’s not a good idea.”

“If the General requires it, then he should know that – ”

“– And what happens when the both of you go and get yourselves killed – ”

“ – Don’t be so dramatic, Leona. We’ll just have to be – ”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, bringing their argument to an abrupt end. He patiently looked between them, speaking evenly.

“Would either of you care to explain what it is you’re talking about?”

Miler ignored Leona’s disapproving look.

“There are… unofficial channels on Sarna. You can find a lot of things that aren’t to be found that way.”

“A black market?”

“Something like that.”

“Where do we find them?”

“The same place you find outlaws of any sort,” Miler said with a mild smirk. “The cantina.”

“Is it far?”

“Not far. A few blocks perhaps.”

Leona took a step toward Obi-Wan, her look of disapproval replaced by one of concern.

“These are bad people. They’ll kill you without a second thought, and they can draw you unwanted attention. Are you _absolutely_ certain this is necessary?”

The Jedi looked away momentarily. If he was honest, the answer was an emphatic ‘no.’ There was no legitimate justification for risking exposure on the hope that Padme’s healing wound wouldn’t scar. It was totally irrational that he was even considering it. Valuing the mission below a three-inch spot of flesh? The act was frankly beneath him.

But then he remembered her expression years ago, after the accident, and his ludicrous choice was made.

“We’ll be careful,” Obi-Wan assured her, before joking, “And in any case, the unsavory are my preferred company.”

“Perhaps I should go alone,” Miler said. “We don’t want any of the Sith to recognize you.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, as if it were a frivolous thing.

“The common soldier won’t know me. I’m not particularly concerned.”

Miler smiled at the Jedi’s confidence. He’d have expected nothing less of the legendary Negotiator.

“You should at leas’ change. Even the common soldier can recognize a Jedi’s cloak.”

Obi-Wan nodded, turning to R2 when the droid beeped at him.

“Sorry, little one. You’ll have to stay here.”

  
This didn’t sit well with his small companion.  
  


“I’ll be fine, R2. Honestly, you make it sound as if I can’t put my boots on without your help.”

The spurned droid rolled off in a huff, as a teenaged Anakin might have.

The Jedi felt his stomach tighten at the mere thought of his former apprentice, but forced the feeling into a separate place, to be dealt with later. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

Taking one last glance at Padme, Obi-Wan turned back to face Miler.

“All right. Let’s get to it then.”


	4. Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - In a galaxy where the powerful Sith, led by Darth Sidious and Count Dooku, are at war with the Jedi and the Republic, the fate of countless worlds will rest in the hands of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padme Amidala, and their companions.

Obi-Wan hadn’t felt so out of his element in as long as he could recall.

It wasn’t the sordid band of cretins littering the cantina, or even the planet itself – which he’d not stepped foot on prior to his crashing – but rather the clothes on his body, which were so unlike the attire of a Jedi that he felt as if he were naked entirely.

The bar was a predictable display of sentient heterogeneity. Creatures of all shapes and creeds sat drinking at the counter or at tables, stood eyeing passersby, and whispered conspiratorially in darkened corners.

“Jus’ like I remember it,” Miler said, a small but genuine smile on his face.

“Been away for a while?”

“I haven’t been here since I was a teenager.”

Obi-Wan frowned.

“Your parents let you come here?”

Miler shook his head casually, his eyes scanning the room.

“No, my parents died a while before that. My sister and I…” He paused. “… found employment here.”

Realization dawned on the Jedi after a moment.

“You were couriers, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Weapons, spice, death sticks.”

“Death sticks? Those things will kill you, you know.”

Miler smirked.

“Yeah, well, the types of guys who used em’ prob’ly didn’t have so long to live anyway,” he said cavalierly, taking in Obi-Wan’s raised eyebrow before gesturing toward an Ithorian sitting alone in a corner booth. “That’s the man we’re looking for.”

“An Ithorian?” the Jedi asked incredulously. “They’re the last people to do anything illegal.”

Miler grinned slyly.

“That’s what everyone else used to say. I guess it’s why he’s still in business.”

“Fair enough, Lieutenant. Lead on.”

The soldier stepped out in front, carving a path through the sea of species. Obi-Wan followed behind him, using his peripheral vision to take stock of all the characters he passed, assessing potential dangers. Some of them were phony tough guys, puffing their chests out. Some of them were wolves in sheep’s clothing. And still others were fools walking crooked paths that wouldn’t lead them anywhere.

When they finally crossed the cantina, and came to stand before the Ithorian, Obi-Wan hung back a bit, standing, while Miler sat down in the chair across from the long-necked alien as if invited.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the Ithorian bellowed stereophonically from his two mouths. “Have you no idea who I am?”

Miler smiled, leaning back in his chair.

“Relax, Rondo. I want t’talk some business.”

The Ithorian squinted the eyes on either side of his t-shaped head, giving the soldier a scrutinizing once-over. It was few seconds before he finally pieced things together, but when he did, he let out his species’ equivalent of a laugh.

“It’s you. The Crata boy,” Rondo said with some amazement. “I told you you’d be back.”

Miler rolled his eyes.

“I’m not looking for a job, Rondo. I’m looking for something else.”

The Ithorian eyed him suspiciously, then glanced at Obi-Wan briefly.

“What do you want?”

“Bacta,” Miler said.

“Bacta? That’s all? You’re wasting my time.”

The Jedi took a step closer, bracing his hands on the table and leaning down.

“We will pay you handsomely, of course.”

“How handsomely?” Rondo asked, doing his best to sound disinterested, but failing.

“One vile. 500 credits.”

Miler coughed upon hearing the unexpectedly high number, lifting a fist to his mouth for a moment.

“Did you say 500?” he asked.

Obi-Wan nodded, fixing him with a glare that demanded compliance. To his credit, the soldier recovered quickly, forcing a neutral expression before he turned back to Rondo and nodded.

“Yeah, that’s right. 500,” Miler said, trying to sound as sure of it as the Jedi. “So, what will it be, Rondo?”

The Ithorian considered the offer, the gears turning behind his eyes. It was more than fair compensation; in fact, he’d be ripping them off. He was of a mind to accept the deal, and was about to verbalize such, but he was denied the opportunity.

From out of the crowd emerged a pair of male Twi’leks, one blue and the other green. Miler and Obi-Wan glanced up as they approached the table, high-end blasters visible in holsters on the men’s hips. They looked to the Jedi to be bounty hunters.

Obi-Wan threw Miler a measured look, and the street-wise soldier nodded and rose, taking a few steps away from the table to stand beside the bearded Master, making way for the Twi’leks, who bypassed the Republic fugitives without a single glance, stopping beside the table and starting down intently at the Ithorian.

Rondo, unfazed and annoyed, eyed the men irritably.

“What do you want?” he demanded. “I’m in the middle of a transaction.”

The green Twi’lek smiled disingenuously, glancing at Obi-Wan.

“My sincerest apologies. This shall be quick, I assure you.”

“Of course,” the Jedi replied evenly.

“Thank you.”

The blue Twi’lek, not quite as patient (or perhaps just not as fond of foreplay as his companion), regarded Rondo with indurate eyes that hinted at a past they’d shared.

“Neecho was not happy to learn that you cheated him,” he said, the muscles in his face twitching.

Rondo, conceited and self-assured in nearly every moment, sobered at the mention of his sometimes-rival, sometimes-partner. He’d not suspected that the Twi’leks, freelancers for as long as he’d known them, were working for the drug lord.

“Neecho? You work for Neecho now? Whatever he’s paying you, I’m sure we can reach an agreement.”

“Neecho is the brutal kind, but he always pays the wage he owes,” the green Twi’lek said, that creepy, mirthless smile not leaving his face. “You, though… you’re too stupid to keep your own people happy, Rondo. I’m surprised no one killed you sooner.”

Obi-Wan’s chest tightened. It was clear now what would follow. He and Miler could only watch helplessly. Getting involved in this matter would surely blow their cover, and as sad as it was to say, Rondo was no innocent man.

The blue Twi’lek pulled his gun from his holster, pressing it against the center of the Ithorian’s head, watching gleefully as Rondo’s eyes crossed on either side to look at the barrel of the blaster.

“Bye, Rondo.”

The shot killed him instantly, the blaster bolt peeling back some of the creature’s brown flesh and splattering some of the muscle and cartilage within, littering the table and the blue Twi’lek with black and green tissue gobs.

With a glance at Obi-Wan, who stared back dispassionately, the green Twi’lek shoved Rondo’s mangled corpse backward, watching as the Ithorian slid down in his chair so that his lower half was touching the floor.

Then the bounty hunters made their exit, the crowd parting on either side to allow them through. But in a sickening and unsurprising display, the moment the Twi’leks were gone, everyone returned to their previous affairs as if nothing had happened at all, and no one – not even the cantina employees – bothered to come see to the Ithorian’s carcass.

Obi-Wan turned to Miler coolly.

“Well, that went well,” he deadpanned.

The soldier glanced back at Rondo’s body, the sight surreal to him. When he was a kid, he’d thought the criminal entrepreneur invincible. But this was a dangerous galaxy, he knew, and the Ithorian had had it coming.

“We should get out of here,” he said. “Word will pass to the Sith soon enough, and they’ll come to investigate.”

Obi-Wan nodded his agreement, suppressing a rush of melancholy as he realized that there’d be no more bacta for Padme. He felt guilty at the thought; a man was dead, and here he was fretting over a would-be scar.

This time, the Jedi led the way through the crowd, though he didn’t bother to observe the people who comprised it. They were all a faceless mob to him now, the same as Grievous’ droids.

When they made it across to the other side, Obi-Wan headed to the door, Miler beside him.

  
They were both surprised when a man emerged from behind them, circling past them to block their path.

“Excuse me,” the Jedi said, trying to move around him.

“Hey, hold on a second,” the man replied, taking a step to the left to stop him again. “What’s the hurry?”

Miler fixed him with a threatening look.

“I don’t s’pose that’s any of your business, is it?”

The man, a tall, rugged type in his late thirties, looked back at him with barely-open and unimpressed brown eyes that made clear his lack of intimidation. His hair, lazily slicked back, gave him the look of someone who was selling something. And it just so happened he was.

“Oh, calm down a second, tough guy,” he mocked. “I’m trying to help you guys out here.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. I heard you talking to Rondo over there, before the whole… whatever that was.”

“And?” Obi-Wan asked patiently.

“And I think I can help you out.”

It was clear the Jedi’s interest was piqued, so he continued, “It just so happens I might have a little something for you.”

“Bacta,” Miler concluded.

The man shrugged.

“Well, close enough.”

“What do you mean ‘close enough?’” Obi-Wan asked. “Either you have bacta or you don’t.”

The man rolled his eyes.

“Look, I hate to break it to you, jack,” he said, his plain Corellian accent sounding patronizing, “but Rondo didn’t have any bacta either.”

“How do you know?”

“Because _I’m_ the one who supplied him. With kolto.”

Miler frowned.

“Kolto’s about half as strong as bacta. And it smells worse too.”

“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers, can they?” the man asked, folding his arms across his chest comfortably.

Obi-Wan sighed, eyeing him cautiously. The man looked every part the classic hustler, from his “helpful” attitude to his clothes – a collared white shirt only half-way buttoned, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of tattered brown slacks, with a frayed holster carrying an old model, obsolete blaster.

But he offered an opportunity just the same.

“All right,” the Jedi said carefully. “How much?”

The man took a quick look in every direction, as if to make certain there were no eavesdroppers. When he replied, his voice was hushed, and the two fugitives had to lean in to hear him.

“I don’t want your money. I want something else.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s just say I’ve got incentive to get off this rock, and I need a little help doing it.”

“You don’t have a ship?”

“No. Not like it would matter, though. The only ships that have take-off clearance are Sith ships.”

“Then how exactly are you planning to leave?” Miler asked.

“We can talk about that while we get your kolto.”

The man smiled surreptitiously, and usually that look alone would have been enough to make Obi-Wan disengage. But the fellow had the kolto (or so he claimed) and a plan to leave Sarna (or so he claimed), and even if he seemed to radiate artifice, the Jedi knew that he had no choice but to see where this led.

“All right,” Obi-Wan conceded, rubbing the hairs on one cheek. “But I assure you, we’ll not be marks for an idiot’s scheme.”

The barterer wore an innocent expression.

“Then it’s a good thing this ain’t a scheme, and I’m not an idiot.”

“There’s still plenty of hours in the day,” Miler quipped, following the men out of the cantina.


End file.
